Rise of the Enders
by Demand Truth
Summary: Commander Jones is the best soldier in the United Army, and he's a Vanguard responsible for protecting the peace of the entire galaxy. A strange distress call leads him to an abandoned planet, where Jones will find himself charged with the task of saving all humanity. He'll need help, though, and that's where the space pirate Captain Kirkland comes in. USUK, AU
1. Distress Signal

**Rise of the Enders**

_Chapter 1_

It was a day that would forever change the future of humanity, but for Commander Jones, it started the same as any other. An alarm robot booted itself up and began to zoom around the Commander's quarters—beeping and trilling all sorts of high-pitched, obnoxious noises in an attempt to wake the sleeping man. Jones groped on his nightstand for his glasses, jammed them onto his nose, and then sleepily thrust his hand out. A pulsing blue energy beam shot from his palm and neatly vaporized the alarm bot.

It was the third one that week.

With a satisfied grin, Commander Jones pulled the covers back over his head and managed to sleep in for another twenty minutes before a persistent knocking against his door finally roused him. It was his assistant, a stern-faced, older woman who was largely responsible for keeping things running smoothly on the ship.

"Commander, with all due respect, get your lazy posterior _out_ of bed!" she shrieked through the metal door. Commander Jones sighed mightily and swung his long, muscular legs out of bed. He'd fought enough battles to know that this particular one was a hopeless cause. He _never_ got to sleep in.

"I'm coming already!" Alfred shouted. Under his breath he added, "Evil dragon woman!"

"I heard that!"

Commander Jones just scowled petulantly in response and dragged his feet into his bathroom to complete his morning rituals. His childish behavior was not typical of a Commander in the United Fleet (and he was a Vanguard now, too, on top of his already impressive military title), but nothing about Commander Jones was normal. His crew had adapted to his unusual leadership style, and they knew that behind his childish front, Commander Jones was a weapon of mass destruction on the battlefield. He held the lives of his crew in his hands, and he took that responsibility very seriously.

He just _really_ wasn't a morning person.

Teeth brushed and his bladder appeased, Commander Jones dressed in his casual uniform and emerged with a jaw cracking yawn. His assistant was waiting patiently, and she presented him with a datapad containing specs on the ship's performance and navigational progress while he'd been sleeping.

Jones glanced over it dismissively and then exited out of the report, pulling up a sports page that gave him the results of the latest pod races on Luna.

"Damn. I had fifty creds on that new pilot—he burned out in just the second lap!" Jones pouted. His assistant rolled her eyes.

"Your breakfast is waiting in the galley, Commander. Please get to it. You have a busy day," she chided. Jones handed the datapad back to her and nodded with a friendly smile at a crew member passing by, who saluted him briskly.

"You say that everyday, and it's always boring," Jones griped. This exchange was also as routine as clockwork. Despite having one of the most impressive, expensive ships in the human military at his command, and all the freedom of a Vanguard, Commander Jones spent much of his time traveling in space from one routine mission to the next. Lately, it had become a little _too_ routine for the excitement-craving Jones. Of course, a mission that was "routine" for Jones would scare the crap out of a civilian and make experienced military leaders shake in their boots. Jones was special, though. He always had been. There was not anything in the universe he truly feared. Except maybe ghosts.

Commander Jones scanned his eyes over the galaxy map, seeing nothing interesting beyond space rubble and random little globes floating silently on their orbits. His assistant sat down at a computer terminal nearby with a steaming mug of tea.

"Still on course for Lillim?" Jones asked. His assistant, yeoman Michaels, nodded briskly.

"Making excellent time," she observed. Already bored with yet another day of space travel, Commander Jones turned his back to the three-dimensional galaxy map and sighed mightily. Maybe he'd go to the commons deck of the ship and work out a bit—like he did everyday.

"I'm gonna go pump some iron. Call me if anything comes up," Commander Jones ordered needlessly. Michaels nodded, but went back to her desk work, essentially dismissing him for the day now that he was awake at a respectable hour.

As Alfred was making his way to the ship's elevator, a rather plucky little robot rolled into the hallway along side him. He was such an old model of robot that he was nearly three feet tall. His body was fashioned from dull, silver metal and his optical sensors were overly large, red ovals of cheap grade plastic. This particular model was a Technical Operations and Networking Infobot—but Al just called him Tony for short, and they'd been buddies ever since Alfred had been forced to leave his home world at the mere age of ten. Alfred's hobby (not that he had much time for it between missions for the Council and the United Army) was tinkering with robots. Tony was the first bot he'd ever built from a pre-fab kit that he'd worked for years as a kid in a junkyard to afford.

Tony didn't serve any real function on the ship beyond keeping Alfred company nowadays. Sometimes, just so the bot would feel useful, Alfred would have him send an e-mail to his brother Matthew, who still lived and worked out in the wild and lawless edges of the galaxy—a place known more simply as the Verge.

"Anything in my inbox, Tony?" Jones asked, giving the robot a friendly little pat on his dome shaped head.

"Negative. You have no new e-mails. Alert. A system scan performed at 1300 hours revealed a distress signal sent from the planet Nihon," Tony informed in a mechanical monotone. Commander Jones glanced at Tony in mild surprise.

"Michaels didn't mention a distress signal this morning. Are you sure you don't have a bug or something, Tony?" Jones asked concernedly. Tony wheeled in front of Alfred, blocking his progress to the commons.

"Alert. A program has been blocked from attempting to download a holo to this platform. Would you like to download the message now, or be reminded again about this request in (selection) 24 hours, 48 hours, or never?"

Alfred was really intrigued then. It was one thing for Tony to pick up on a possibly old and dysfunctional distress beacon, but it was another thing that he'd received a holo message. It was extremely old fashioned technology, but someone had to have been sentient at some point to record it.

"Download authorized," Alfred replied, crossing his arms across his chest and waiting in the hallway for the download to complete. Yet another soldier passed by and offered a stiff salute. Alfred offered a smile and a friendly hello, but his men always kept their distance from him. He had only the best of the best of the United Army's men on his ship, the SS Hetalia. Mostly, they were older, battle hardened soldiers that respected rank and file and didn't have much in common with their young, friendly and excitable Commander.

"The download is complete. What would you like to do with this file? (Select) Open, Save As, or Cancel?"

"Open," Alfred said. Maybe this would liven up what was shaping up to be just another humdrum day in space. The black camera beneath Tony's "eyes," designed to look a bit like his mouth, projected a flickering, 3-dimensional image of a slender alien with human-like features. The only differences in anatomy seemed to be his elfish ears and his purely black eyes, which seemed just a little too large to be human. The holo began to speak in an unknown language. If Alfred didn't know better, he would have thought the alien was some sort of android. His voice was almost completely monotone, and he certainly didn't _seem_ to be in distress.

Maybe that was why Michaels hadn't mentioned the distress signal—maybe it was just a generic warning that planets sometimes left around dangerous territories. Alfred sighed in disappointment.

"Doesn't _seem_ like he needs help. Can you run a translator on it?" Alfred asked, resuming his walk to the commons. Tony bumped and rolled along beside him, his speed a little slowed as he was busy computing.

"Negative. The language is ancient Pito. I have only minimal sources to translate. Translation will be incomplete. (Select) Continue, Cancel?" Tony asked. Alfred had never been much of a history student. Pito sounded familiar, as did the planet Nihon, but he couldn't remember why the names tugged at his memory.

"Continue," Alfred authorized absently. They had reached the commons, and it was empty at such an early hour in the morning. Unlike Alfred, most of the crew had duties to perform on the ship to keep everything running. Jones just waited around until the big, bad guys needed to be destroyed.

The holo began repeating its message, still in that flat tone, but this time certain phrases jumped out.

"_-request pick up-frozen-future of galaxy-balance-"_

Alfred blinked in bewilderment. Sure, he hadn't gotten the full message, but that certainly wasn't a generic warning to stay away from dangerous mines or a warning about severe weather conditions. The more advanced databases on the ship's core would have been able to decode the message more fully, and yet for some reason, the distress signal had been ignored. Worse, it had not even been reported to him.

Sure, Alfred Jones acted like a big kid most of the time, but he was still Commander for a reason. It was his call to make, and he couldn't make those calls if he wasn't even properly informed.

More than a little annoyed, Jones left the commons as quickly as he'd arrived and headed back up to the bridge, Tony rolling along at his side. When he got there, Michaels was still typing away at her terminal and sipping her now cold tea.

"Back so soon?" she inquired. Alfred scowled.

"Play the holo, Tony," Alfred said. His little bot did as requested, and Michaels listened with a totally blank expression on her face. Then, something a little creepy happened. As Alfred watched, the stern woman's eyes fogged over. A second later, her irises were their normal shade of brown, and Alfred shook his head a bit, wondering if he was imagining things. She seemed like the same old Michaels when she addressed his concern, though.

"We also received this transmission, Commander, but our systems tell us it is far too old for the recorder of the message to still be alive. It is nothing to concern yourself over," she reassured. "Outdated distress signals such as that one are all over the galaxy. It might be thousands of years before another ship travels this route, you know."

"Err...I guess...but, hey, Michaels...are your eyes feeling okay? Maybe your biotics are acting up," Alfred suggested. The yeoman blinked a few times, seemingly in surprise.

"My eyes? They feel fine, Commander. I can have a biotic balance scan performed later in the med bay, if you deem it necessary, however," she said. Alfred decided it must have just been his over-active imagination.

"You don't have to—it must have been a trick of the light or something. Anyway, even if this holo is old, I'm still curious. We can't be more than a few minutes away if we activate the hyper drive. Double back and tell the shuttle crew to prepare for landing on Nihon."

Michaels stared at him for perhaps a bit too long without saying anything. Finally, she nodded her head once, and returned silently to her terminal. Alfred pouted a bit at her back. What was up with the old woman today? Usually she was pretty tolerant of small stops to let Alfred stretch his legs and do some light scouting.

_'It doesn't matter if she thinks it's a waste of time. I'm so freaking bored on this ship that I'll take any excuse to land I can get!'_ Alfred thought stubbornly. He returned to his room, where he kept his armor and weaponry stored. There likely wouldn't be anything on Nihon but some big game that might make for nice target practice, but Alfred thought of the strange alien on the holo. What if he _was_ still alive? Alfred had certainly never met an alien like him, and he knew the galaxy was a big place. What if his species was just particularly long lived? It had sounded like his message was really important—something about a threat to the whole galaxy.

Alfred smiled as he strapped on his chest plate. He was overdue for a good challenge.

* * *

"Captain, they're right on our tail!"

"Then get them _off_ our tail, Silva!" the Captain roared as he pushed away from his outdated vid screen where he saw nothing but bad news—a big, powerful merc striker was after him for his latest stunt. The ship suddenly shook dangerously and the bridge began to cloud with smoke. A terminal, likely something important, was spitting little sparks of blue light, while the machinery chugging along behind the sleek metal panels began to groan and belch smoke.

Matthew's voice popped up on one of the com links, calm and quiet even in such a dangerous situation.

"_We're hit badly,"_ he assessed.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Arthur shouted at Matthew, swatting ineffectively at the smoke pluming up around him. He needed to get to the upper turret, as clearly something had happened to Ivan. Usually, their resident, scary-as-fuck gunman would have been all over their pursuing attacker at a time like this.

"_Captain, hyper is out. They've hit a slat, and one of our engines is overloaded,"_ Matthew rattled off. Arthur kicked angrily at a nearby terminal and cursed in about twelve different alien languages before he got it together.

"Alright, Matthew, shut off the engines and let her float. We aren't going to get anywhere with no hyper and a busted up slat. Silva, divert all alternative power to the shields," Arthur ordered. Silva shot him a skeptical look.

"We'll be sitting ducks, Captain," Silva said. Arthur frowned grimly.

"Exactly. We'll let them board. I'd make sure your gun isn't jammed this time, Silva. It gets rather tiresome saving your life all the time," Arthur said flippantly. His navigator and pilot shot him a wild grin and a rude hand gesture.

"Shields are up, Captain," Silva confirmed, just as Arthur exited the bridge and took the ladder passage up to the top turret. It was a long climb in total darkness, due to all the power being diverted to the shields. Sadly, that meant the lift wasn't working either.

Once Arthur reached the top of the ladder, he pulled out a small energy blade and clicked it on, feeling the thrum of power in his hand and finally able to see by the fuzzy green light it emitted.

Sure enough, Ivan had been knocked out cold. He must have hit his head during the initial blast. Arthur checked his vitals with calm, practiced ease, even though his beloved ship was still being knocked about by small munition fire.

_'Bloody hell, do I have to do everything around here?'_ Arthur thought to himself as he hastily hit the com link on his thin, flexible armor.

"I thought it went without saying that we were faking a surrender—it would be wise then to issue a white flag so they _stop fucking firing!_" Arthur snapped. A second later, Rafael's totally unapologetic voice echoed cheekily back at him in the darkness.

"_Sorry, Captain. It's out now,"_ he said. _"Thank god for us you're worth ten times more alive than dead,"_ Rafael added. It was true enough. The mercs would have blasted a less valuable pirate right out of orbit.

Luckily, or perhaps not, Captain Arthur had a considerable bounty placed on his head by a rather well connected illegal arms dealer. The pesky bounty on his head shut Arthur out of weapons dealing, but luckily he was still able to outfit the ship with whatever they needed through salvage and through Ivan's connections.

Not that Ivan was doing him much good at the moment.

"Ivan's fine—just knocked out. Might as well leave him up here. He won't be any good in the fight," Arthur said with reluctance. He was pretty fearless in a fight, but knowing Ivan was fighting at his back always gave him an extra boost of confidence.

_'Well, if I play my cards right, it won't come down to a gunfight at all,'_ Arthur thought with sudden inspiration. Arthur pressed his com link again, this time speaking to their resident cook/assassin, a man by the name of Yao Wang.

"Yao, who's your favorite Captain?" Arthur asked with fake sweetness. Yao's angry, rapid answer fired back immediately.

"_I'm not doing that again!"_ Yao shouted.

"Sorry, Yao, but it's an order," Arthur replied with a smile that was just a little perverted. This was one of his favorite tricks, but it was hard getting Yao to cooperate. They'd tried it once with Matthew, but that had just been a disaster. Yao had the graceful nature to pull it off...and he looked damn good in drag.

Arthur chuckled when a stream of old Chinese curse words streamed over his com link. That meant Yao would play along, though Arthur knew he'd likely be eating his own cooking as a punishment for weeks to come. It was a small price to pay to prevent further damage to his beloved ship.

Leaving Ivan to sleep it off in his loft space, Arthur slid down the rails of the ladder and landed back on the bridge. The smoke had been sucked out and Matthew had emerged from the engine core, his delicate features obscured by grease and oil as usual.

"How's she holding up?" Arthur asked. Matthew shrugged.

"She's survived far worse. I can patch her up at a fuel depot...if we get there alive, that is," Matthew said a bit glumly. Arthur flashed his mechanic a debonair smile.

"Why, Matthew, don't I always get us out alive? What kind of gentleman would I be to let you all die horrible, pointless deaths?" Arthur asked. The final member of their small crew came skidding into the room, still looking a bit panicked, a gun in his hands that was far too powerful for him held at the ready. Sure enough, he tripped on the cracked flooring and accidentally fired the gun. With lightening reflexes, the Captain shoved Matthew down, feeling the hot energy of the phaser gun sting over his back.

"PETER!" Arthur roared, as soon as he deemed it safe to stand again. The useless cabin boy squeaked in alarm and took off again, this time running away from Arthur rather than towards him. Mercs were scary, but Captain Arthur could be terrifying!

The ship rumbled and shuddered as the merc ship docked beside them and extended their hatch.

"Shit, that was fast. Where's Yao?" Rafael asked a bit worriedly. Arthur glanced toward the crew chambers and was relieved to see Yao emerge, fully disguised. Rafael and Arthur shared a quick smile—it was always fun seeing Yao in such a costume.

He wore a padded bra, which helped him fill out the seductive dress that managed to hide the bare minimum of skin and reveal just about everything else. Fake gold armbands accentuated Yao's slender upper arms, and delicate, silken shoes encased his small feet. The Asian man's hair was down, which was a rarity, and the long, black locks flowed like satin. A similar gold band encircled his brow, accented with a jewel that dangled in the middle of his forehead.

"Aww, no makeup?" Rafael teased.

"I didn't have _time_, you great idiot! Hurry, get the stupid floorboard up if we are really going to do this," Yao ordered. As he talked, he skillfully tied himself up with a long, silken rope. To the untrained eye, it looked as though his captors had restrained him. In truth, the complicated knots and webbing would serve as Yao's primary weapon.

Rafael put his well-defined muscles to work and hefted up the loose floor panel. It was one of many places they used in the ship when they were smuggling illegal cargo, but they rarely actually used it—it was too obvious a place.

Mercs were usually too dumb to pick up on subtleties like that, though. Arthur had been using a variation of this ploy for years. Just as Yao disappeared under the floor, the hatch opened and three, muscle bound mercs had their guns leveled at the crew of the Old Britannia.

"Welcome aboard, gentleman. Might I interest you in a cuppa?" Arthur offered with a jaunty little bow. The mercs grunted in disapproval and made a show of waving about their weapons.

"All of you, down on the floor!" the leader of the platoon shouted, unnecessarily loudly in Arthur's opinion. They were in a small space and they certainly weren't deaf. Making a show of reluctance, the crew dropped to their knees, hands behind their heads. The other two mercs came forward and began patting them down, tossing their weapons onto the nearby table with its colorful, mismatched chairs.

"Gentleman, please. Surely we can work this out. I know there is the small matter of my crew raiding your ship, but you'll find all the goods we stole in the cargo bay, quite intact," Arthur said. The reaction from the merc was instant. He pistol whipped Arthur hard across the jaw, drawing blood. Being a seasoned fighter, Arthur didn't even grunt in pain, though blood began to well up at the corner of his mouth. He spat it onto the floor and stared distastefully at the violent merc.

"You think you can just raid our ship and then give it back? No harm done? For such a famous pirate captain, you sure are stupid!" the merc taunted. Arthur tasted his own blood and smiled.

"As I was saying, your cargo is still on board...as is the cargo we took from a United Army supply vessel that, shall we say...drifted a bit off course," Arthur said suggestively. The first merc who had entered the ship, the one who carried himself like the leader, cocked his helmeted head to the side.

"I'm listening. What are you packing on your little shit of a ship, Kirkland?" the merc asked. Just then, Yao let out a staged whimper, right on cue.

"Hey! They've got hidden cargo under the floor—sounds alive! I bet this pirate is moving a slave, aren't you?" the third merc guessed. The merc leader began to smile under his helmet. It was their lucky day. At first, it had seemed like shit work to chase after the slippery pirate who had stolen medical supplies, of all things, but the bounty on Kirkland had made a halfhearted chase required. The merc leader honestly hadn't expected to _catch_ a pirate like Kirkland. Then again, his ship was a rusty bucket of bolts. It was strange that such a notorious pirate had such a clunky, outdated vessel.

All such thoughts left the leader's mind when the floorboard was pried up to reveal a slender, Asiatic slave, tidily bound with tears smeared over her cheeks. The mercs licked their lips in anticipation.

"You were holding out on us, pirate. Why the fuck would we care about pills and spare ammo when you've got a treasure like _this_ on board."

"Fuck yeah! Jackpot!" the crude merc said in delight. He shoved Arthur aside in his haste to lift the sex slave out of the hidden compartment. "She's strong! This one will last much longer than the last one did!" the merc estimated. Yao made a big show of looking properly terrified.

"I didn't want it to come to this, but I suppose it must now. Look, lads, she's actually quite legal. I have her authorization codes, which will make it much easier on you to get clearance to bring her back on your main ship."

"So what's your deal? We take the slave and you send over the codes?" the merc leader asked. Arthur grinned pleasantly.

"Precisely."

The mercs exchanged looks. Even with their helmets on, Arthur read the stupid thoughts flashing through their skulls. _'We'll take the slave back to the ship, and then blast their ship to rubble anyway. The slave is worth far more than Kirkland!'_

"Well, gentleman, do we have a deal?" Arthur asked. The merc leader smiled beneath his helmet.

"Deal, pirate. We leave with the slave. This little run-in never happened."

"I understand perfectly," Arthur replied.

The mercs left, Yao in their custody, back to their own ship. The subordinate started questioning the leader as soon as the hatch closed.

"We aren't letting them live, right?" he asked.

"Of course not. We'll give him a chance to send the codes over, just in case they're actually legit. It's a shame we couldn't get Kirkland _and_ the slave...but I just don't want to deal with transporting someone like Kirkland, even if the money _is _good," the leader replied. The third began the process of detaching their ship.

It all happened very fast. One second, Yao was a crying slave left slumped and restrained by the hatch. The next, he was _everywhere, _seemingly all at once. The rope twisted around the first merc, who'd made the mistake of removing his helmet. Yao pulled the rope mercilessly, crushing the man's esophagus, before he leaped onto the second merc and bound his hands in mere seconds. Done with the rope, Yao left it restraining the second merc and propelled off him towards the third. He ripped the fake jewel off his headband and threw it to the ground, instantly filling the ship with smoke when the fake gemstone proved to be a smoke bomb. Moving soundlessly in his slipper feet, Yao slipped up behind the third merc and slid his hidden blade into the soft padding between helmet and chest plate with deadly precision. He returned to the restrained merc and broke his neck with a bare-handed twist. The three were dead in less than two minutes.

"_Sending over the codes now, gentleman, though I warn you—Yao is a delicate lady deserving of the utmost respect—" _Arthur's voice rang out jokingly over the ship's com link. Yao waved irritatingly at the smoke and pressed the button to reply.

"Shut up, you stupid pirate! It's done! You eat your own cooking for a _month_ for making me wear this stupid, ugly dress again!" Yao barked.

"_Now, Yao, I didn't realize you weren't fond of the dress. I'm sure Ivan would be _more_ than happy to acquire a new one for you. He's finally come around and rejoined us, in case you were worried," _Arthur replied. Yao tossed his silky black hair angrily.

"I wasn't!"

"_Connecting the hatch now,"_ Arthur replied, and Yao once again felt the rumbling of the two ships linking up once more. The first thing Yao saw upon re-entering Old Britannia was Ivan smiling at him in perverted glee.

_'Just what I need,'_ Yao thought in annoyance. The ship's gunner had a weird, creepy obsession with him already, and seeing Yao in drag only made the problem worse. That was just one reason (among many!) he hated the smuggled slave routine.

Besides, why did _he_ always have to do all the work? Honestly, the stupid pirates would get nowhere without him!

"You did really good, Yao," Matthew said in his quiet, sweet way. He was the only crew member that didn't grate on Yao's nerves, but that wasn't saying much. Honestly, Yao had no idea why he stuck with the odd crew. There certainly wasn't much in it for himself.

"Thank you, Matthew. And you're all welcome for saving your lives..._again_," Yao said. Then, directing his glare at Arthur's bloody lip, Yao frowned. "He didn't hit you hard enough, but sit down you stupid pirate. I have ancient Chinese remedy that will help."

"Ah, little Yao, I hit my head too," Ivan interjected in his slow, off-putting way of speaking. Yao rolled his eyes, but waved them both towards the dining table. Matthew fetched Peter from hiding, as well as his tools, and went to go salvage parts off the merc ship with Rafael and Peter's help.

"Aside from the busted lip, I'd say that went fairly well," Arthur mused. Yao inspected his bloodied lip with a grip that was more firm than entirely necessary.

"You are too soft. If any other crew had tried to steal that medicine, it would be suicide," Yao remarked. He gave Arthur a cold, wet rag to press to his busted lip.

"Yes, well, I told you when you signed up my evil reputation was really rather undeserved," Arthur joked lightly. The assassin's eyes softened and his movements grew gentle again.

"Those children on Midor will live now, thanks to us. I suppose it was not a bad raid after all, but we still must get them the supplies," Yao said.

"Matthew will have us ready to go before you can say..._drag_," Arthur replied, with a cheeky grin. Instantly, Yao's eyes hardened again and he grabbed a nearby frying pan. Arthur only just managed to dodge the wild attack.

Meanwhile, Ivan just watched his little assassin and smiled, despite the bloody gash on his forehead. Seeing Yao dressed so prettily was always a treat—it _had_ been a good raid, after all, even if he didn't get to shoot anyone.

A mere three hours later, Matthew had efficiently gutted the merc ship and repaired their own—at least enough to allow them to limp back to Midor. When the work was done and they were underway once more, Matthew relaxed down in the engine room and smiled at an old picture of himself and his twin brother.

"I survived again somehow. I hope you're just as healthy and safe as me, wherever you are, Alfie," Matthew wished as he often did, making a mental note to shoot an e-mail to his brother later, once he was sure the ship would safely make it to port.

* * *

**A/N: **So this is the start of a new idea I've been excited about for a pretty long time! It's basically like a mash-up of Hetalia, Star Wars, Firefly, and Mass Effect. If you aren't familiar with any of those other series, just think HETALIA: IN SPACE! I'm not entirely convinced about devoting my time to this one, so let me know if I'm onto something or if writing sci-fi isn't my thing. This is my first time to try, so I'm a little nervous!

Character/Country Name Translations for Reference:

Rafael Silva – Portugal

Ivan – Russia

Yao – China

Matthew – Canada

Alfred – America

Arthur – England

Peter – Sealand


	2. Betrayals and Schemes

**Chapter Two**

The airlock opened on the shuttle and Commander Jones jumped the rather impressive height down to the planet of Nihon below, accompanied by two of his soldiers, Grisly and Rogers. They were both good with their biotics and excellent marksmen. They were reliable, trustworthy, and they never questioned Alfred in the field—even if their greater experience made them hesitant to agree with Alfred's wild ideas sometimes.

The surface of Nihon was a beautiful place, as were many of the little planets that were forgotten by time. The terrain was heavily wooded, which provided excellent cover, and the undergrowth was thick on the ground to soften the noise of their approach. Ancient ruins, crumbling and broken apart, rose out of the crust of the planet like skeletons of great, fallen gods. Small woodland creatures skittered about in the treetops, and Alfred thought he spotted a deer-like horned animal dart off deeper into the woods as they approached.

"Alright men, we're moving in on the origin of the distress signal. Keep under cover and watch your fire," Jones said as he began to cautiously advance into the woods. It was mid-day, but the trees were so dense that the forest felt unnaturally dark and mystical. Combined with all those crumbling temples and statues dotting the landscape, Alfred felt a bit like he was intruding on sacred ground or something. It set his nerves on edge.

_'Ack! What if the distress signal was sent by a ghost? Why didn't I think of that before I made the ship land?'_ Alfred worried, and he peeked around his current hiding spot for a few seconds longer than necessary before he cautiously advanced again. Before Alfred could become too worked up about the possible ghost presence on Nihon, he was given a bigger problem to worry about.

A ball of biotic energy came hurtling towards the back of his head, and it was only Alfred's quick reflexes that saved his life. He rolled out of his current position and turned, expecting to see hostiles behind Grisly and Rogers...but there were none. For a moment, Alfred was shocked and didn't move, even as Rogers took careful aim at his head.

"I'm sorry, Commander, but this is one mission we can't let you complete," Rogers said. The muscular soldier then opened fire, and Alfred had no time to dodge. He activated his shields and braced himself for impact, as he knew the shields wouldn't fully hold off a shot from point-blank range. Sure enough, Alfred felt the sting of a slug rip along his side, but it was a minor flesh wound rather than a kill shot.

"HEY! WHAT THE HELL, GUYS?" Alfred shouted, hesitantly aiming his own gun at his men. Keeping his shields up, he retreated to cover. His mind raced with possibilities. Maybe this was a training exercise nobody had told him about? Maybe he was being tested by the higher ups yet again? What if something in the planet's atmosphere made people confused and hyper aggressive?

The possibility that Rogers and Grisly were betraying him simply wasn't an option, and Alfred refused to consider it.

Alfred dodged more biotic fire from Grisly and gunfire from Rogers—both of them just as deadly as they usually were in combat, only now they were trying to kill _him_. All the same, Alfred kept evading and moving deeper into the woods as he pulled up his com link and connected to yeoman Michaels.

"Michaels, something is wrong with Grisly and Rogers! They're shooting at me! Rerun the atmosphere scan for any irregularities!" Jones ordered.

"_Negative, Commander. It is the wish of the United Army that you be terminated, as your indoctrination has failed. Submit to death, Commander Jones,"_ Michaels said calmly. Alfred's eyes widened in shock and his heart stung at the betrayal.

"Screw that! I don't know what's going on with everyone today, but nobody's going to die over this weird shit!" Alfred insisted stubbornly. Alfred was evading fire successfully so far without returning it, but he couldn't run away forever. He needed better cover. There was a half-collapsed temple entrance nearby. It was his best chance to temporarily escape his crazy-ass crew, but god only knew what was inside the old temple. Deciding that temple ghosts would make for better company than his traitorous crew for the moment, Jones detonated a smoke shield and ran hard for the temple entrance.

As he did so, Tony's voice patched through his com link.

"_Global Positioning System activated. Approaching distress signal origins. Proceed straight for 6.24 meters. (Select) Avoid major highways? Avoid tolls? Fastest course?"_ Tony asked. Alfred dropped to the ground just in time to avoid a massive ball of biotic energy hurtling past his head.

"Damn it, Tony, I'm pretty sure there aren't any freaking toll bridges around here!" Alfred shouted. He grit his teeth against the pain in his side and scrambled back to his feet, his eyes watering due to the heavy cloud of smoke.

"_Continuing on fastest course. Slight drop in .68 meters,"_ Tony said, just in time to be too late. Alfred grunted in pain as he slipped on the crumbling staircase in the darkened temple and slipped halfway down before regaining his footing. Breathing hard, he aimed both palms at the entrance to the temple, where a large slab of rock was partially buried nearby. Screaming with the effort, Jones poured everything he had into lifting the rock with his biotics and shifting it to block off the entrance to the tunnel. He was successful, but the move completely extinguished what little light there had been in the passage. Pitched into total darkness, Alfred sunk to his knees at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard and bleeding sluggishly from his side.

"You know, Tony, you could have...mentioned the stairs...before I..._fell_ down them!" Alfred said between panting breaths.

"_You have stopped. Do you need to refuel? (Select) Yes, No." _

Alfred glared in what he thought was the up direction, where somewhere above his head, Tony was floating in the main ship being a jerk.

"Yeah," Alfred grumbled sarcastically, "I need to refuel," he said. Angrily, he slammed his fist against the crumbling stair nearby. It was one thing if his crewmates didn't want to get friendly with him, but it was another thing entirely that they wanted to _kill_ him.

"_There are no fuel depots near your current location. Would you like me to call emergency assistance for you? (Select) Yes, No," _Tony offered. Alfred let out a long sigh. This certainly qualified as emergency conditions.

"Yes. Tony, dispatch a request for aid to HQ. Tell them my crew has gone crazy and I'm trapped in a fucking temple...don't say the 'fucking' part," Alfred said in a defeated tone. His com link fell silent as Tony went about sending the emergency signal.

Alfred let himself have a pity party for a few moments before he decided to try contact Michaels one more time.

"Michaels, please..._why_ is the crew trying to kill me all the sudden?" he asked petulantly. Her crisp accent replied immediately.

"_You have failed during the indoctrination process. If Grisly and Rogers cannot terminate you, other measures will be taken to ensure your capture and demise," _she replied.

Alfred closed his eyes tightly and tried to lock down his rioting emotions. Yeoman Michaels had been on his crew for nearly six years now. Grisly and Rogers had followed him into hell and back, and more than once at that. Even if his crew kept him at arm's length, they were still _his_ crew. _His_ men. Besides, they did little things all the time to show that they cared, even if the hardened military types weren't good at saying it. The cook always made him a little extra, and always kept a late night snack for him in the galley. Yeoman Michaels had bought him a birthday present last year. Granted, it had been a personal organizer, but _still_.

Why would people who had saved his life and had his back for years suddenly want him dead? It didn't make any sense, but everything had started getting weird when Alfred had discovered...

"The distress holo! Maybe if I find it, I can figure out what the _hell_ is going on," Alfred concluded to himself. Hopefully, he'd locked himself in the right temple. Sometimes Tony's G.P.S. directions were sketchy. As recovered as he was going to get, Alfred stood, clutching the wound on his side, and turned on the flashlight built into his gun. Typically, he'd just flare his biotics for light, but he'd exhausted his powers shifting the slab to block the entrance.

_'Geez, why do I always end up alone in the creepy dark places? I bet this place is packed with ghosts!'_ Jones thought to himself nervously. Still, he had to get to the bottom of this, for the safety of his crew. He didn't know what Michaels meant when she said they'd take other measures to eliminate him if Grisly and Rogers failed, but he didn't want to find out.

Tony's voice popped back up, startling Alfred and causing him to jump.

"_In 1.9 meters, take a slight left. Heat sensors picking up enemy presence. Prepare for hostiles,"_ Tony advised.

"Shit," Alfred cursed, but he stayed calm in movement and steadily swept his flashlight beam from one side of the passage to the other. The walls were damp with moss and algae, and even random batches of pale, little white flowers. Just as Alfred reached the curve in the path, his light flashed over a large, pale green pod. It looked like a giant, oval jelly bubble growing out of the wall. Alfred couldn't tell what was inside it, but it seemed vaguely human in shape.

"Are these pods what was giving you the heat readings?" Alfred asked Tony.

"_Confirmed. Hostile presence is dormant. Proceed 3.12 meters directly ahead to the source of the distress signal." _

"These pod...things...aren't going to wake up, are they, Tony?" Alfred asked. He peered down at the pod, trying to see what was inside. Knowing better, he reached out a gloved finger and gave the jelly-like surface a little poke.

Just as he did so, a thin, red pulse of energy shot right in front of his nose, and Jones jumped back in surprise. He swung his gun and light towards the source of the attack and much to his surprise, Jones found himself staring at the alien from the holo, and he was _definitely_ alive.

* * *

Arthur unloaded the last box of the supplies and passed them off to a very thankful colonist. The leader of the struggling little colony was a good friend of Arthur's, and he just so happened to be Rafael's distant cousin. Captain Kirkland tried not to abuse the privilege, but he knew he could always find refuge at Hope colony on Midor. The colony's leader, a man by the name of Miguel Silva, eagerly clasped Arthur's hand in a hearty greeting.

"Welcome back! I can't believe you actually managed to get the medicine!" Miguel commented in relieved surprise. Miguel went on to hug Rafael, and express his pride in him. Rafael had been born on Midor, though the Hope colony had been a mere rebel fort back then. Now, it was one of the most stable and populous human colonies in the Verge, but a recent virus had been killing off the young and the elderly. Nobody liked seeing children die, least of all Arthur, so he'd postponed all other business and set about finding who had the supplies the colonists needed to fight the virus. He'd found his supplies in the belly of a merc ship with a dangerous reputation.

"Turns out the Sons of Saints recruited a shady Quatarian scientist to engineer a new human virus. The evil bastards were going to release it on the colonies and then sell the cure to them once their populations were decimated and they were desperate. Hope was the only colony they'd hit so far," Arthur said. Miguel shook his head in disgust. The Sons of Saints were a primarily human gang. That they'd scheme something so heartless against their own kind was beyond disturbing.

"Living in the Verge isn't for the weak, is it? The gangs get worse each rotation, and the Enforcers are useless," Miguel said sadly. Unless you were a criminal, the Verge wasn't the ideal place to raise a family. Second-class citizens of humanity, like the Hope colonists on Midor, didn't have much of a choice, though. They weren't exactly welcome on humanity's beautiful home world, Earth. The 2Cs as they were called (essentially non-biotic humans) had attempted a few, scattered rebellions after the forced exodus of all non-biotics off Earth. The United Army, with the help of bigger galactic forces, squashed the rebellions mercilessly until the 2Cs simply stopped trying to fight for a place back home.

It was a miracle that 2Cs like Arthur and his crew, and the colonists of Hope, had survived war with the biotics and being forced to migrate to the Verge. All of that was history, though. Arthur had never even seen Earth. Like everyone in his generation, all he knew were stories of Earth's glory from the old-timers.

Though 2Cs could not go to earth, no such restrictions existed for biotics. They came into the verge quite often for their illegal ventures. The split between 2C humans and biotics was a bitter rift known all throughout the galaxy. Captain Kirkland in particular absolutely hated biotics, and he made it his sole business to rob them blind when they dared to come into the Verge.

For now, though, he was away from the crazy life of a space pirate. Midor was a dry, dusty hell of a place, with an angry red coloring to the soil and vegetation covered in spines and needles, but she was the closest thing to a home planet Arthur had. His original home planet had been destroyed long ago.

"The Hope colonists will be strong again, and until they are, you have the full support and protection of Old Britannia at your beck and call," Captain Kirkland reassured with a smile and an elegant little bow. Miguel smiled once more and gave Rafael's shoulder another happy squeeze.

"I am just so glad you made it back safe and well. Come, you must be hungry!" Miguel said, leading them into the colony's big meeting hall, where meals were served and entertainment took place. It was usually a lively place where the colonists waited out the frequent dust storms, but the sickness had left it feeling hollow and far too silent.

Arthur and his crew accepted seats and a pretty colonist in a simple cloth dress brought them hot food. The crew dug in heartily, but none with more enthusiasm than Arthur; he knew Yao would keep him on a steady diet of his own cooking once they were back on the ship as punishment for the drag ordeal.

"Tell me, cousin, have there been anymore shakedowns from S'loka?" Rafael asked. Though he was still eating like a ravenous beast, Arthur listened carefully to the conversation.

"She and her thugs came around about two rotations ago, asking for protection money again. I told her our children were dying of the sickness—it was medicine we needed, not hired guns. She said I have one last chance to reconsider her offer. I don't know if she poses a serious threat or not, but we can't afford to lose any more colonists," Miguel said with a worried sigh.

Arthur felt bad for Miguel's situation, but shakedowns were a common occurrence in the Verge. The colony was strong enough to deal with such threats, or they wouldn't have survived as long as they had. Once the colonists started feeling better, and worrying less about the welfare of the young ones, they'd be able to handle S'loka and her thugs on their own.

Besides, Captain Kirkland had wasted too much time already. Rumor had it his target would be traversing the Verge soon, and Kirkland was going to be there when it did.

"Matthew, how long will we be docked for repairs?" Arthur asked, after his fourth bowl of the spicy, hearty soup.

"I've got all the parts I need, but some repairs were difficult to do in orbit. I need to stabilize them better. I'd estimate maybe three days?" Matthew said.

"Woohoo! Three days shore leave!" Peter crowed happily. Captain Kirkland shot him an annoyed glance.

"Not so fast, Peter. You're helping Matthew. Besides, the children here are too sick to play with you now anyway. You'll only annoy them while they're trying to heal," Arthur decided. Peter pouted, but knew his orders were non-negotiable.

"I have some contacts on Midor who I would like to speak with about a few new weapon mods. I request Yao assist me. It could be a dangerous trip," Ivan said. Almost simultaneously, Yao protested.

"Let him go on his own! You don't pay me enough to kill people—I was hired to cook! I need to scout the markets for good rations, or you'll all be eating freeze dried tofu again."

That settled it in Arthur's mind.

"Ivan, you're a big boy. You can meet your contacts on your own. Yao, you see about restocking our rations while Peter and Matthew work the repairs. I've got some business at the Enforcer base near here. Rafael...you enjoy the time with your family, but keep an ear out in case Matthew needs help," Arthur said. Everyone nodded, pleased with their assignments, except for Ivan who was always unhappy when Yao was given permission to escape his company.

Arthur thanked their server for the meal and bid his farewells to a few people in the colony that were still out and about, and not locked away with their sick loved ones. He borrowed one of Miguel's dune racers and set out for the Enforcer base.

It was a long drive through the desert without much to see for viewing pleasure, so Arthur listened into a hacked United Army news feed line and picked up on some rather promising snippets of information regarding supply routes. Roughly two hours later (quite certain he'd swallowed a bug or two along the way) Arthur waited to be allowed entrance into the base.

Enforcers were typically not humans, though some humans did join their ranks. They were essentially galactic police officers, who were under the command of the Counsel. If a planet was significantly populated, typically there was an Enforcer base there to theoretically keep the peace.

The system worked very well for the planetary systems closer to the Counsel's massive, planet-sized ship, however out in the Verge, the Enforcers were just another corrupt branch of criminal activity. They were powerful, though, as they could count on regular supplies from Counsel ships and on backup if they needed it from other branches.

The gates of the sleek military compound opened and Arthur navigated the dune racer inside. He was immediately approached by an Enforcer, who asked for his identification without really checking it. Arthur offered a set of identification papers that showed he was a former Hope colonist and was currently the Captain of a cargo and tourism ship. The falsified documents weren't all that far from the truth, so Arthur always used them with those who actually had the means to look into him more thoroughly. His papers weren't really necessary here, though. He was well known at this Enforcer base. He was their supplier for everything one _couldn't_ get off a Counsel supply ship.

"Welcome back, Cap'n," the burly Enforcer said with a smile that looked more like a threat—probably because of his multiple rows of gleaming teeth. Most of the Enforcers on Midor were Gorgons—a lovely race that looked like what one might get after breeding a shark and a raptor. Despite looking vaguely aquatic, Arthur knew them to be terrible swimmers—too heavy. The Gorgons did well in dry, arid climates like Midor, where the harsh sunlight bleached their normally gray skin almost white and made them look like horrible skeleton monsters.

Not the sort you'd want to piss off, but a great friend to have in a fight.

"Hullo, Thrash, always good to be back amongst friends," Arthur greeted a bit hoarsely. Noting his dry throat, the Enforcer gave Arthur a hearty slap on the shoulder that nearly made Arthur's knees buckle.

"Come on in. Ya look like ya need some grog," he offered. Arthur's liver screamed _no!_ even as he smiled in anticipation. Gorgon grog would get a man drunk in a hurry, and Captain Kirkland was very fond of his drink.

Arthur was easily welcomed by the other Gorgons on base who were crowded around the bar, as day posts were coming to an end. He was offered a few jars of grog as thanks for favors he'd done for some of the Enforcers present, and got one on the house when he managed to make the bartender laugh out loud at his retelling of Yao's drag incident.

He'd drank a respectable amount and was certainly feeling it, but not so much that he forgot his goal.

"Lads, though you're my favorite men to drink with—" a loud cheer went up around the bar, "I _did_ have a small reason for dropping by. You see, a rather important U.A. supply ship will be a parasec from Midor in a few days time, and I aim to make her mine. Of course, I'll bring supplies here to sell first at a _heavily_ discounted rate, if you gents were to say...have a broken receiver...when those spoiled army boys call sniveling for help." Arthur aimed his suggestion at the officer who'd been drinking beside him for several rounds now.

The vicious-looking Gorgon smiled, and Arthur knew he'd land the deal if he sweetened it just a bit.

"It's a pretty serious bit of work to ignore a request for aid—the U.A. ships are favorites on the Citadel," the officer said mildly. Arthur returned his easy grin with a charming one of his own.

"Ah, exactly! It _will_ be a tragedy to lose a ship in the U.A. fleet, and the voters will be ever-so-concerned. When it's revealed that it's all the fault of outdated, malfunctioning equipment, the Counsel will rush to replace your receiver," Arthur said.

"And then we have two receivers. What good does that do us?" the officer asked skeptically. Arthur's grin widened.

"Well, it just so happens that the Elcoran colony on Zhu will be needing a gently used receiver in a few rotations time," Arthur said. The Gorgons and the Elcoran tolerated each other, but they certainly weren't allies. Old wars between the two races had soured any possibility of close cooperation.

"I'm not sure why _we_ would care to help the Elcoran, an' how do _you_ know their receiver is fixin' to bust?" he asked. Arthur's smile turned piratical.

"Because I sabotaged it when I was last there. You see, their colony is where the U.A. ship aims to refuel, but if they never receive the message that they're coming..."

"The United Army won't realize soon enough from the Elcore reports that somethin' went wrong, since the Elcore won't even know they were comin' in the first place. Meanwhile, you get the U.A. ship's cargo, and we get a discounted rate on your wares and the profits from sellin' our old reciever—to our Elcoran _friends_ who don't realize you busted their receiver in the first place. Damn, Cap'n, I reckon' I'm glad to count you as a friend 'stead of an enemy."

"And there's nothing I find more enjoyable than a good round of grog with friends. This round is on me!" Arthur said, finishing off the last of his grog to hearty yells of support. The officer and the few lower ranked men around Captain Kirkland snickered at the misfortune of the duped Elcorans and gave Arthur complete reassurance that their receiver _had_ been acting up lately. They'd need to put a work requisition form that would get conveniently "lost" just as soon as they all finished drinking together.

And with his business handled with such a satisfactory outcome, Captain Kirkland felt like celebrating.

* * *

**A/N:** Lots of background info in this chapter, and I apologize if it was too weighty on explanation—I find that's one aspect of writing sci-fi that I'm not liking so much. In case you're like me and you need the simple run-down, the following are some notes on the chapter in case you need them for reference while reading.

**The Verge** – Far reaches of outer space, poor in resources and crime ridden

**Sons of Saints** – Human 2C gang operating in the Verge

**Quatarians – **Race of primarily scientific-minded aliens

**2Cs** - Humans who do not have biotic powers, nicknamed from the label "second class citizens"

**2C Rebels - **non-biotic humans who fought against the idea that 2Cs should be purged and kicked off Earth

**Biotics** - humans born with the ability to use biotic powers, home world Earth, powerful in galactic affairs

**Hope** – Human colony on Midor for 2Cs, led by Miguel Silva

**Enforcers – **galactic police officers, typically corrupt in the Verge

**Captain Kirkland** – space pirate by trade, with human and Gorgon allies on Midor, hates the United Army for personal reasons, and holds bitter resentment towards biotic humans due to his past

**Miguel Silva –** Older cousin of Rafael Silva, Captain Kirkland's navigator. Runs human colony Hope.


	3. History Lesson and Alfred's D

**Chapter 3**

Arthur was happy to see the Hope colony coming back to life near the end of their stay. They'd taken an extra day in port, to allow Matthew to integrate the weapon mods Ivan had purchased from his contacts, so they'd begun to see the children coming out of isolation on wobbly legs.

"And then I hurled my biotic spear at the Gorgon and—"

"Peter, your friend looks worn out, and your lies are historically inaccurate," Arthur commented drolly. Nearby, where Matthew was fixing up odds and ends in the belly of the ship, a soft snort could be heard.

"That's why you shouldn't be responsible for the kid, you know. It's called an _imagination_. Children have them, so I hear," Matthew said in his quiet, soft-spoken way. It was Arthur's turn to show disdain, though he was surprised Matthew had said anything at all, especially something sarcastic.

"Nonsense. Peter is far past the age of needing a mother. I had my first post on a ship as a cabin boy when I was a year younger than him," Arthur replied indignantly. Peter, who was eleven, joined them glumly because Arthur's cutting words had chased off his playmate.

"Yeah, and look how _you_ turned out," Peter said with a pout. Captain Kirkland gave Peter a smart rap on the back of his head.

"Mind the cheek," Arthur scolded. "When I was your age, I read everything I could get my hands on. I was entirely—"

"I was entirely self-taught. I _valued_ the lessons of history, and nobody needed to tell _me_ to put aside childish fancies and—" Peter continued, imitating Arthur's voice. Arthur glowered and unsheathed his blade. It was a broad, curved weapon, and with a press of a button on the jeweled hilt, the blade crackled with electric energy. Energy blades were slightly old-fashioned—everyone had guns nowadays—but Arthur had a special attachment to his blade.

It was also useful when giving Peter swats on the behind when he was out of line, which was often, in Arthur's opinion. It always amused Arthur to give the wild child a good swat and watch Peter's hair stand straight up. Needless to say, Peter lived in child-like fear of "the sword." Arthur would never seriously hurt him with it, though.

Matthew emerged from the ship's belly with a soft smile on his face at Peter's insolence. Noting it, Arthur narrowed his green eyes at the mechanic.

"You have a huge soft spot for the boy. You two have gotten awfully close since I added him to the crew," Arthur said mildly. Matthew's gentle smile was replaced instantly by a quick frown, and Arthur almost regretted speaking. Matthew was the shy one, and even after years of working together, Arthur didn't know all that much about his personal life. It was almost as if Matthew simply blended in with the ship.

"He reminds me of my little brother," Matthew finally said, still frowning in the direction Peter had gone. Arthur's eyes shot open in surprise.

"A brother, you say? You never mentioned having a brother," Arthur accused. Matthew wiped his hands off on a dirty towel and simply shrugged.

"You never asked," he replied. Matthew sounded so very sad that Arthur felt obliged to ask then.

"Is your brother...err...you know...?"

"Dead?" Matthew offered. Arthur nodded, and shifted uncomfortably. Matthew's frown finally turned into a shy smile once more.

"No. We keep in touch. I'm just a bit worried—I haven't heard from him. It's not like Alfred to go quiet for so long," Matthew said. After a slightly nervous glance at Arthur that the Captain didn't catch, Matthew added, "He's in a rather dangerous line of work."

"Ah, dreadfully sorry to hear that, lad. I'm sure he's fine, though. Stiff upper lip and hope for the best and all that," Arthur said rather briskly. Matthew discreetly rolled his eyes. Arthur certainly wasn't a shoulder to cry on. Then again, he _was_ one of the most feared pirates in the Verge. One didn't acquire that kind of reputation by sniffling and sharing feelings.

"Well, everything is calibrated now. Give her an hour to reboot and warm up, and we can take off," Matthew said. Arthur nodded, clearly relieved they were back on more familiar territory.

"Just enough time to give Peter his lesson. You've worked hard, Matthew. Restock at Hope if you have need for any personal supplies. We can delay our departure a little longer," Arthur offered. Matthew nodded in gratitude and headed for the shopping district. Arthur went inside the ship, where Peter was likely trying to hide from his work.

"Peter! To the table, lad. Bring your workbook!" Arthur yelled. The ship really was very homey, not at all like the military vessels they raided that were all stainless steel and the newest technology. The Old Britannia featured a warm, wooden table in the galley with colorful, mismatched chairs. Yao was already there, restocking their pantries with his purchases and cross-referencing a few cookbooks as he worked on the menu.

Unlike when Yao was practicing his deadly martial arts, while at work in the kitchen, he seemed truly happy. Even Peter and Arthur's presence in his domain didn't upset his good mood. He graciously cleared a cookbook off the table to make room for Peter and Arthur.

"Do I _have_ to learn this stuff? I don't see what I could possibly need it for. I already know everything I need to know to be a soldier," Peter said.

"You give up this soldiering nonsense right now. No cabin boy of mine we'll take all my secrets and tricks to the United Army," Arthur growled. Yao shook his head.

"Let the boy have his dreams," Yao said.

"Yeah! My biotics will kick in any day now, and then I'll be the biggest, scariest soldier in all of the Verge!" Peter boasted. Arthur flipped open the workbook, scanning Peter's messy attempts at spelling, arithmetic, and science. His history passages were completely undone.

"No wonder. You've been skipping your history lessons," Arthur said aloud.

"Because they're dreadfully boring, old chap," Peter replied saucily. Arthur arched a thick brow and Peter meekly pulled the book towards himself, open to a passage about the 2C Rebel Wars.

"Go on—read aloud," Arthur ordered. The pirate Captain snagged a piece of local fruit out of a nearby box and munched on it as Peter read dutifully.

"The 2C Rebel Wars began after the biotic-en-ah-bled..."

"The word is _enabled_, Peter. It means humans that developed the ability to use biotic energy at a young age."

"Am I too old to develop biotics?" Peter asked immediately. Arthur mercilessly replied.

"Yes. Far too old. You are a 2C, and you _should_ be damn proud. Biotics are weak-willed and spoiled—they're freaks of nature_,_" Arthur said. "Ancient humans were like us—2Cs. Nobody knows why the biotics mutated, but they did, and they thought that just because they had special powers, they were better than us."

"Oh," Peter said. Then, with a defiant tone, he added, "But we fought them, right? In the Rebel Wars? You served on a Rebel ship as a lad!" Peter said, making the connection. Arthur nodded with a fierce, proud smile.

"Aye, Peter. My first Captain was a war hero—the greatest in the Verge."

"Tell me a story about him!" Peter begged. Arthur cleared his throat, about to launch into a tale as true as it was incredible, when Yao pointedly cleared his throat.

"This is why none of his history passages are done. Make the boy read it for himself," Yao insisted. Yao was the only other person on the ship that believed Peter needed a firm hand. Ivan didn't really notice the boy, and Matthew spoiled him horribly. Arthur blushed slightly at the reprimand.

"Ah, he's right, lad. You need to practice your reading. Finish the passage and then answer the questions—use your good spelling! I'll make you look up every word you spell wrong," Arthur threatened. With a sigh, Peter dragged his eyes back to the dull passage. He'd only been reading for a few moments before he asked another question.

"Captain?"

Arthur glanced up from the fruit he was still peeling. "Yes?"

"Biotics don't _sound_ weak. They sound pretty cool. This book says they can move stuff around by man...ip...lating—"

"The word is _manipulating,_" Arthur corrected with slight irritation.

"By manipulating the energy in their bodies. So, like, their whole bodies are weapons?"

"_Technically_, that's correct. Most aren't that powerful, though. They just act superior because they glow blue is all."

"Oh. So they can't," Peter glanced at the passage and read from it, "use their biotic powers to move things, or mold the energy into an attack and launch it at an enemy?"

Arthur sighed, and took a particularly vicious bite of the fruit.

"_Technically_, they can, but as I said, most do not develop their powers to that level. They rely on weapons just as we do."

"But because we don't have powers like them...we're not as good?" Peter finished sadly. Arthur slapped the table hard, causing Peter to jump out of his chair.

"Nonsense! I've killed my fair share of biotics. I haven't met a biotic yet that could best me in battle. You'll see a biotic for yourself on our next raid—and you'll see that they die under my blade the same as any other man, special powers or no."

"Oh. You don't like biotics at all, do you Captain?" Peter asked, his blue eyes big and round. By this point, the other crew members had begun to join them, and Yao was cleaning off the table to serve dinner. Matthew dropped his small bag of purchases near the door while Ivan came down from the turret where he'd been cleaning his guns.

"No 2C should like a biotic, Peter," Yao said firmly, answering before Arthur could. "They took our home from us. They turned on us, and convinced the rest of the galaxy we were like criminals—_worse_, even. They treated us like animals. We were killed and hunted, and those who survived," Yao met Ivan's eyes and they shared a moment of unspoken connection, "typically lost everything. Families that were once rich and powerful had everything stolen from them, or worse, some family members mutated and others did not, and brother turned against brother. None of the stories from that time are good."

"So...biotics are the bad guys?" Peter asked. Arthur was just about to say, "Yes, they're evil bastards, every one," when Matthew spoke up in a quiet, yet firm voice. For once, he spoke with an authoritative tone that made everyone want to listen in surprise.

"Peter...all these old wars can be confusing, and our history _is_ important, but never decide a whole group of people is evil just because they're different from you. That's the sort of thinking that starts wars in the first place."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, but Matthew refused to take back what he'd said. Yao seemed surprised by the words, but with a sigh recognized the truth in them. Ivan didn't look like he cared either way, and only Arthur clearly still wished to debate the issue. Arthur could see there was no point, though. Peter loved Matthew, and the softly-spoken guidance had instantly trumped anything Arthur had said to him in the previous hour.

"Like I said...history is boring!" Peter decided, with the simplicity of a child. "What's for dinner, Yao?" he asked, oblivious to the tension now lingering in the usually friendly dining room.

* * *

Commander Jones swallowed thickly, and backed away from the pod slowly.

"I come in peace!" he said. The line felt so cheesy, like something from the old movies he and Matthew used to watch as boys about humanity's first contact with aliens.

The alien, who was petite in height with delicate facial features, slowly lowered his strange looking pistol once Alfred had retreated from the pod. He spoke, but it was in an alien tongue and Alfred had no clue what he had said.

"Err, little help, Tony?" Alfred asked. There was a long pause and then Tony replied.

"_Incomplete translation. Who-you? (Select) Friend, enemy,_" Tony said. Alfred breathed out in relief. The alien was just cautious—not hell-bent on killing him.

"Friend! Definitely friend, dude," Alfred said casually, flashing a big, white smile. That was universal for nice, right? Instantly, the strange gun was pointing at him again. The smile quickly dropped from Alfred's face—maybe not. Feeling nervous again, because he had no clue which social cues would frighten the weird little guy, he gently touched his chest armor.

"Me...Alfred," he said in simple, slightly loud language. Alfred couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance in the alien's pitch black eyes. Still moving slowly, Alfred pointed at his companion in the cave. "You...little alien." He tapped his chest once more. "Alfred..." he pointed at the other, "little al—"

"Kiku. Name Kiku. Translation machine incomplete," Kiku replied, all in that same, steady monotone.

"Oh! So you _can_ speak English. Awesome! I'm Commander Jones, United Army, 361st Fleet, Vanguard for Galactic Space and all-around Hero Extraordinaire! I came to rescue you," Alfred said with another smile that set Kiku on edge again.

"Rescue?" Kiku asked, or stated, really, since his voice didn't modulate as Alfred's did.

"Yeah! Ya know, you sent a signal...and here I am!"

"Ship?" Kiku asked, and pointed upwards, likely to outer space. Alfred nodded his head.

"I've got the best ship in the fleet! Err...there's just one tiny little problem right now, and I've _totally_ got it under control...but my crew is _kinda_ trying to kill me."

Kiku blinked at him, but otherwise gave him a flat look that read "I am _not_ impressed" in any language.

"Hey, don't give me that look! Don't act like you _know_ me. I'll have you know this is the first time they've tried to kill me! Otherwise, I'm a _great_ Commander!"

"...Right," Kiku replied. It was Alfred's turn to blink, wondering if that was some sarcasm he was detecting. Jones decided to let that one go.

"So, until I figure out what's wrong with my crew...we're kinda stuck here."

"Not stuck. Need ship. Proceed," Kiku said flatly. Without further commentary, Kiku swiftly and silently began to trek out of the cave, leaving the strange pods behind. Alfred poked one, really fast, when Kiku's back was turned.

It _did_ feel like firm jelly.

"No touch," Kiku said sharply, turning to glare at Alfred. His dark gaze moved to the pod, and Kiku's whole demeanor seemed sad. "Last ones I save. Only ones I save."

Even Alfred knew that the destruction of an entire race was nothing to joke or smile about. He guiltily pulled his hand back.

"Sorry, little alien."

"Kiku. Not little," the alien said again. Alfred flashed a small smile.

"Sure, whatever you say! But, hey, Kiku—we really can't go back out that way. My crew is, well, kinda mutinying right now. Or something."

"Need ship. Eliminate enemy."

"Woah! Hold on a second! You can't _eliminate_ them!" Alfred said. Kiku turned, and suddenly, the whole tunnel was lit with biotic energy—Kiku's entire body was consumed by green, crackling light. It rolled off him in waves, pulsing off his skin, and Alfred could practically _taste_ the energy in the air.

Somehow, Kiku was a biotic like Alfred...and he was _powerful_. Two could play that game, though. Alfred had recovered from shifting the giant slab, and he let his own blue biotics flare. The wound in his side ached and protested, but Alfred matched Kiku's intensity.

Kiku's eyes narrowed, and no translator would have been able to keep up with the millions of thoughts racing behind the alien's dark eyes. The dominant emotion Kiku showed was understanding. Kiku recognized something in Alfred, and whatever it was that he saw, he made sense of it quickly and formulated a plan of action even faster.

"Too late. Enders are here. Must eliminate hostiles," Kiku insisted. Without another word, he thrust a huge, glowing green ball of biotic energy at the slab of rock, shattering it into a million fragments. From the strange robes he wore, Kiku unsheathed a long, straight blade. It was a beautiful weapon, fashioned out of a metal that was purely black and looked wickedly sharp. Kiku concentrated his biotic energy to dance along the blade and set off, moving quickly out of the cave and into the forest beyond.

"Shit!" Alfred cursed, clutching at his side. He drew his own gun, but knew that he couldn't actually use it to help Kiku kill his crew. Likewise, he couldn't kill Kiku—he obviously wasn't a bad guy. Alfred was torn. "I just...gotta knock 'em all out!"

With a less than impressive plan in mind, Alfred grit his teeth past the pain and ran after Kiku.

The forest no longer seemed mystical and peaceful. Night had fallen over the planet, and strange patterns glowed on the trees. The luminescent algae gave off enough light for Alfred to see by, but it cast unsettling, eerie shadows. A bird cried in the distance—a long, haunting note that made Alfred shiver. A shot fired at Alfred and he dodged and rolled on pure instinct. He aimed his gun from cover at the direction of the gunfire, but the forest was totally silent once more. It had turned into a game of hide and seek in the dark.

Alfred spent a few more tense moments waiting, all while that creepy bird kept occasionally crying, when his ears picked up on the distinct sound of biotic energy cutting someone down. The scream sounded like Rogers.

"_Fuck!_" Alfred hissed, before rolling from his cover and running quickly towards the noise. More shots fired at him, sizzling over his skin by mere centimeters and leaving darkened scorch burns where his skin wasn't protected by armor. He ran full out, jumping fallen logs and dodging obstacles until he reached a clearing. Kiku stood in the center of it, calm and perfectly composed, still faintly glowing with green biotic energy. The body of Rogers was crumpled at his feet, sliced cleanly in two. Rogers blood pooled out around him, occasionally spurting from an artery. Alfred had seen plenty of death in his time, but he knew he would _never_ forget this death.

Alfred was angry at Kiku, and he wanted to take him down, but he knew he was at a disadvantage. Kiku was strong—likely as strong as Alfred—and he was still healthy. Alfred's side was badly hurt. If he rushed in blindly, Kiku would cut him down instantly.

Gunfire paired with some biotic shots sprayed into the clearing and Kiku crouched, avoiding the bullets, before leaping forward with a powerful swing of his blade. His biotics carried him the full length of the clearing, and he landed in a quick spin—if Alfred had blinked, he would have missed it. Grisly's helmeted head, severed cleanly from his body, bounced dully on the forest floor. His body stood upright for a sickening second before it crumpled to the ground, decapitated.

Breathing harshly, and feeling fear begin to cloud his judgment, Alfred raised his gun and fired on Kiku nearly point-blank. The alien activated a shield that encompassed his entire body, and Alfred's bullets sank into the biotic field sluggishly, before slowing and then stopping completely. Kiku dropped the shield and readied his sword off to the side of his body.

"Enders. Let me show," he said calmly. Alfred grit his teeth but knew he was far outmatched. Shakily, he lowered his gun, his blue eyes wild and haunted by what he'd seen.

Kiku delicately crossed the clearing, not making a single sound, and smoothly pulled the helmet off of Rogers head. Alfred clenched the fist at his side, wanting so badly to knock Kiku's jaw loose. Alfred's horror only increased when Kiku pulled his hand back like lightening and then struck, sticking two thin fingers into Rogers' eye socket. With a horrible squelching noise, he popped the eye out and rooted around in the skull cavity for a few agonizing seconds.

Alfred couldn't hold it in. He turned his head to the side and vomited.

His disgust only grew when Kiku found whatever he was looking for—with grim satisfaction in his gaze, Kiku pulled a fat, white, wiggling _worm_ out of Rogers' skull.

"Oh _fuck_ that," Alfred spat in horror. The worm was still alive. It thrashed desperately in Kiku's hold and Alfred thought he might vomit all over again. Kiku crossed the clearing and held the worm far too close for Alfred's comfort. His voice was still flat when he spoke, but it somehow seemed more ominous.

"Ender," he said simply. With a scowl, Kiku turned and threw the worm into the air. With another graceful arc of his sword, he sliced the worm in half.

Alfred backed away, clutching at both his side and now at his head. Was it possible? Was one of those things wriggling around in _him_? He didn't _feel_ anything.

"Oh, god, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_" Alfred said, completely losing his cool. Kiku turned slowly, looking at Alfred over his shoulder with what looked like pity in his eyes. He pointed to the worm, and then he pointed to his own head.

"Mine dead." He pointed slowly to Alfred. "Yours dead." He pointed to Grisly's decapitated head, where another one of the white worms was wriggling out of Grisly's open neck. "Theirs...alive."

But it wasn't alive for long. Kiku lifted a nearby rock with his nuculear green biotic energy and mercilessly smashed the rock against the worm.

Weakly, Alfred sunk against the trunk of a nearby tree. He closed his eyes, fingers digging into his skull, wishing desperately for the ability to rewind time. He should have never landed. Michaels hadn't _wanted_ him to land, why for the love of god hadn't he listened to her?

Alfred's thoughts froze.

Yeoman Michaels...hadn't wanted him to land. She _knew_! Somehow, she and Grisly and Rogers...they _knew_ that distress signal was bad news for them. If Tony hadn't clued Alfred in, he would have passed right by the planet and been none the wiser. For a second, Alfred wished he _didn't _know. What was that saying about being ignorant and happy?

Alfred could have gone the rest of his life and never known that his fellow humans had worms wiggling around in their brains controlling them. Now that he _did_ know, though, he had to fix it somehow...right?

Hopelessly, his eyes trailed up to Kiku, who was doing something odd over the bodies. It took Alfred a moment, but then he figured it out.

Kiku was saying some sort of prayer in his native language. Suddenly, Alfred realized his own cheeks were wet with tears for all the things he didn't know, and for the horror of what had just happened to his men. He stood on shaky legs and moved towards the bodies. His own head dropped and his eyes squeezed shut.

"God...I don't know if you exist, and I know I've never prayed before...but please...give my men peace. They didn't deserve this. They were...they were the very best of men," Alfred said. He wiped the tears off his cheeks with the sleeve of his uniform and stood dumbly for a moment, not even knowing where to begin.

A hesitant touch to his arm. Alfred turned to see Kiku's sad, mournful expression.

"My people...your people...prey of Enders. Much you need know. No time. Need ship," Kiku said.

"My crew...Michaels said...she said I wasn't _like _them. She said the indoctrination process had failed. If Rogerds and Grisly didn't kill me, she said they'd find another way," Alfred concluded.

"Hurry. Where ship?" Kiku asked. Alfred looked around the woods, hopelessly trying to get his bearings. Suddenly, like a warm, comforting blanket, Tony's voice crackled through his com link.

"_You seem lost. Global Positioning System activated. Favorite destinations menu. (Select) Your ship, refueling station, McDonalds." _

With a shaky sigh, Alfred hung his head and replied. "Tony, get us back to the ship. First, though...what's happening _on_ the ship?" Alfred asked.

"_Situation critical. Yeoman Michaels is acting highly irrational. Crew willingly allowed her to slaughter them. Yeoman Michaels sent emergency request for aid to Counsel. Yeoman Michaels sent message to Admiral Beilschmidt. Yeoman Michaels killed herself. Would you like me to play her final message? (Select) Yes, no." _

Alfred swallowed thickly, but knew what had to be done. "Yes," he said brokenly. There was a moment of static over his com link and then Yeoman Michaels' voice filled his head, sounding exactly as it would if she were truly panicked and trying to request aid.

"_Yeoman Michaels requesting aid! Vanguard Commander Jones has gone insane. Cracked from pressure—murdered entire crew—he's going to find me soon. Find him and stop him at all costs! Please!" _The transmission ended and Alfred shook his head in confusion. Why would she lie to the Counsel like that?

Kiku, who had been listening nearby, shook his head sadly.

"Whole universe turn against you. Will hunt you down. Enders want you dead."

It made a certain kind of sick sense. Grisly and Rogers were the only other soldiers on board anywhere near Alfred's caliber. If they couldn't take him out, none of the scientists and engineers back on the ship would have been able to do so. It was a serious thing when a Vanguard went rogue though—the Enforcers and the other Vanguards would be all over him now. If he showed any resistance, they'd shoot to kill, and they might just kill him anyway, due to public fears of someone so powerful no longer being under Counsel control.

With one simple message, Alfred Jones had just become one of the most wanted men in the galaxy.

"_Yeoman Michaels sent a second message before suicide. Open message? (Select) Yes, no." _

"Yes," Alfred said tiredly. He had to get to the bottom of this, terrible as it all was.

"_Admiral Beilschmidt, report from Yeoman Michaels aboard the SS Hetalia. Commander Jones has failed to be indoctrinated. It is possible he has made contact with Kiku Honda on Planet Nihon. Soldiers were unable to eliminate him. Sacrifice of crew was deemed necessary to ensure Commander Jones is eliminated by galactic forces. Bomb has been planted on ship, activation in fifteen minutes. His escape route off planet will be destroyed. Recommendation from field—find him and kill him, at any cost. Yeoman Michaels out." _

As soon as Alfred heard the word "bomb," he was off and running. Tony helpfully tried to guide him, at the same time he calmly informed him that they would likely all be destroyed in the blast radius.

"Damn it, Tony, can't you defuse the bomb?" Alfred shouted. Running swiftly alongside him, Kiku looked equally alarmed.

"_Negative. This platform is missing a critical update to perform this operation. Would you like to search the galactic web for help? (Select) Yes, no," _Tony offered.

"Fucking, god-damned, stupid updates! Yes! Yes! Search for the fucking update!" Alfred screamed. Tony went silent, and the ship came into view for Alfred and Kiku. Ignoring the pain of his wound, Alfred tore towards the ship. He wasn't great with tech, and he'd only barely passed his bomb courses in basic training, but he'd likely do a better job than the robot he built when he was six.

That thought made him run even faster. Of course, Yeoman Michaels had done all she could to stall him in the event he tried to return. His key code wouldn't work on the door. Alfred knew a tech expert could have bypassed the block, but in a time sensitive situation, Alfred usually relied on a tried and true method: if it wasn't working, blow it the _fuck_ up.

A blast of his biotic energy overloaded the locking mechanism and the door to the ship opened with a hiss. Alfred raced up the ramp, skidding a bit on all the blood. It was eerily peaceful, as clearly the crew had not fought or resisted, but they were dead. Blood seeped out of bullet wounds on heads and torsos.

But Alfred couldn't grieve for them right then.

"_Bomb will explode in one minute. Update download at fifty percent," _Tony updated.

"FUCK! Tony, where's the bomb?" Alfred shouted.

"_Navigate to bridge. Bomb planted in center of the room,"_ Tony said. Then, he added rather unhelpfully, "_Fifty seconds remaining. Update download at sixty percent._"

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Alfred chanted as he flew to the elevator, stupidly wasted five seconds jamming the button a million times, and then realized he had _forty fucking seconds_ and took the stairs three at a time. He slid onto the bridge and spotted the bomb easily enough. Tony waited nearby, perfectly calm, still hard at work downloading the information on how to diffuse it.

Alfred hauled ass to the bomb and dropped to the floor beside it, Kiku on his heels. It seemed simple enough—three wires, red, blue, and green.

"Which wire?" Kiku asked flatly. Alfred's mind raced. He recognized this type of bomb. It was basic stuff. He tried to remember the rhyme.

"Shit! Cut green, prepare to scream. Snipping blue will kill you, too. Cut red, save your head!" Alfred said happily in triumph. He reached for the red wire and froze. Was he _sure _that was how the rhyme went? It could have been, cut read and you'll be dead.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Alfred hissed.

"Ten seconds remaining. Update download at ninety percent," Tony said. Alfred's fingers clenched on the red wire and he began to pray to god, Buddha, unicorns and the glowing arches of McDonalds.

"Please,_ please_ let it be red. Let it be red. Okay...no time left...Come on, Jones!"

"Update download complete. Pull the red wire to disable the bomb," Tony confirmed. With a sigh of relief, Alfred yanked the red wire free and waited, harshly panting. Everything faded away, all noise and feeling.

Alfred's final thought was a flash of memory—he and Matthew smiling together over the completed bot they'd worked so hard on, still together all those years ago. Then, the memory was gone, and Alfred's life hung on a single, silent second.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews on the second chapter! I hope this chapter better explained the nature of biotics and the reason for the split in humanity. As for Alfred, Kiku and Tony...well, I guess you'll have to come back next time to see if Alfred's D+ in bomb diffusing 101 saved his ass or not, lol.


	4. Brothers Divided

**Chapter 4**

The peaceful silence on the ship when they were all expecting an explosion was broken only by the sounds of Alfred rejoicing.

"Hell yeah! I just disabled a mother fucking bomb! Tony, tell me who's the man!" Alfred crowed.

"You are a man," Tony replied factually.

"Not _a_ man—_the _man! Up top, little alien dude!" Alfred said, holding his hand up towards Kiku and waiting for a high-five. Kiku stared at his hand blankly. With a smile, Alfred patted Kiku's shoulder instead. "Don't worry, buddy. We'll work on that."

Alfred's moment of celebration was short lived. His elation at surviving the bomb disappeared as he realized his situation. Needless to say, it was pretty horrific.

"Visit computer for updates requested," Kiku said, breaking into Alfred's rioting thoughts.

"Oh, uh, yeah...sure thing—over here," Alfred said, guiding Kiku to a nearby terminal. Kiku pulled a small piece of technology from behind his pointed ear and set it down near the computer's screen. Kiku hesitated at the controls, and seemed unsure of how to proceed.

"You just...like this," Alfred said. He'd never been very good at explaining technology. It made sense to him, and he could fix just about anything in a pinch, but he left the explanations up to the tech manuals that he never downloaded. "Tony, can you scan his translator and yours and try to update them?" Alfred asked. Tony wordlessly joined Kiku at the terminal and grabbed the translator with his robotic arm. Kiku's big, dark eyes showed concern when Tony put the translator in his "mouth" port, but a few minutes later he returned it to the desk and connected himself into the ship's more powerful computers.

"Update in process. 12 percent," Tony informed. Alfred smiled and nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner at Kiku. His smiling still seemed to unnerve the alien, but Alfred wasn't too good at filtering his facial expressions—not like Kiku did, anyway.

"When you can understand English better, remind me to teach you how to play poker. You'd clean up, dude!" Alfred joked. Absorbed in Tony's work, Kiku largely ignored him.

The silence returned to the ship and Alfred realized the unpleasant task ahead of him. He could have booted up a cleaning droid to handle it, but that seemed disrespectful somehow.

"Tony, help Kiku settle in on the ship. I'm going to...take care of my crew," Alfred said, quite serious and sad now. Kiku did look at him then, and even if he didn't understand Alfred's words, he sensed the pained emotion in the young Commander's voice. Kiku gave him a long look and then bowed his head.

Alfred surveyed the land outside the ship and decided the ground was suitable for digging graves. That was work he could entrust to the cleaning droids, though it was certainly not what they were programmed to do. It took a bit of tweaking, but soon the two droids were preparing the eight grave sites.

Alfred was young, yes, but he was battle hardened. He'd lost men before, both in training and on missions. It had been devastating at first, but he'd matured as a soldier and learned that it was the ugly side of warfare, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Any man or woman that died in the line of duty died honorably, and Alfred had learned the only way to cope with death on the battlefield was to find a way to make the death mean something.

Alfred still didn't completely understand everything that had happened. He hoped Kiku would be able to explain it better on flight off Nihon, when his translator was updated. For the moment, all Commander Jones knew was that he'd lost good men and women that day, and he could not let their deaths be in vain. Whatever or whoever these Enders were, Alfred vowed then and there to put a stop to them and their influence over humans.

It raised so many questions, though. Just how deep did this go? Was it only the military that was indoctrinated? What did indoctrination even entail? Why had his own failed, and how did Kiku connect to what was happening?

Commander Jones sighed as he carried the last body, one of the engineers, off ship to the waiting graves. He didn't have the answers yet, but he would find them, no matter what.

Alfred used the extra bedding on the ship to wrap each crew member. He thoughtfully removed their dog tags, in the hopes that when everything was said and done, he could return the tags to their family members. Lastly, he found some spare metal in the cargo bay and carefully recorded the names of the crew and the motto of the United Army.

When that bit of work was done, he worked with the droids to bury each body and place the grave marker. He assumed Kiku had settled into the ship and that Tony was answering the alien's questions, whatever they may have been, while Alfred completed his grim task. As the droids helped him to cover the final body with the soil of Nihon, Kiku and Tony joined him outside in respectful silence.

Alfred stood in silence, too, because he'd never really thought much about what came after death. He was young, and though he'd seen many deaths, and heard many services both religious and not, he felt like none of those words he'd heard before fit the loss of his crew of so many years.

All he could do was kneel at the grave marker and renew his promise.

"_You won't have died in vain. I'll figure this out no matter what,"_ Alfred thought solemnly. He wished his crew peace, and then he returned to the ship with just Kiku and Tony.

"I have instructed your droid to sever ties with your military and remove all tracking software. It is likely we overlooked some, and the ship will be relentlessly pursued. It would be best if we could secure a different ship, as soon as possible," Kiku said fluently. Alfred blinked in surprise.

"Err, I guess the update to your translator was successful. I'm Commander Jones. I serve in the human military, but I'm also a Vanguard for the galactic counsel...which basically means I'm the hero," Alfred said, trying not to smile this time.

"I apologize. I am unfamiliar with your species. I do not believe your species had made contact with other parts of the universe during my people's cycle, however I believe our species have much in common...unfortunately," Kiku said gravely, eying the bloodstains that the droids had begun to clean.

"Yeah, I've got a ton of questions for you, but I need to get cleaned up and we need to get off this planet. I don't understand why or how, but I get the feeling I'm a wanted man now, and that it's not safe to report in to my higher ups. Until I can get in touch with the Counsel, we should probably get a new ship and get off the grid," Alfred said.

"I do not know what changes have happened to the universe during my stasis period. I could suggest sanctuaries, but thousands of years have passed since I was last conscious," Kiku explained. Alfred whistled.

"That's a _long_ time. When did you wake up?"

"By your method of telling time, roughly two years ago. I have been stranded on my home world since then."

"Yeah, this route isn't exactly popular. We're probably the first ship to come this way in a long time," Alfred said. He shook his head. "Man, that's some incredible odds that I even got your signal at all. You have Tony to thank for that one. My crew wanted to ignore it...for obvious reasons now, I guess," Alfred concluded. Kiku nodded, and gave Tony a quick little bow. It must have been how his people showed respect, as Alfred had seen him do it a few times now.

"Well, don't worry. Most military types wouldn't know how, but I can get us out of Counsel space pretty easy. I know where to go to sell a military ship, too. It's going to be dangerous, of course, but you seem like you can handle yourself pretty well," Alfred said.

"What about the wound in your side. The ship's doctor was among those you buried," Kiku replied.

"I bandaged it up already—just a flesh wound. It hurt pretty bad, but the painkillers kicked in fast," Alfred said. He turned to Tony. "Alright, buddy, I guess you just got promoted to my navigator. Set a course for Verge space, to planet Kresh.

"I will need to install updates to my software before I can navigate this vessel. Alert. Attempts to set a destination will be easily detected by military officials. Updates to my firewalls are also required to maintain stealth. (Select) Update now, cancel," Tony replied.

"Update now. Let me know when we're ready to launch," Alfred said. Then to Kiku he asked, "Did you find a good spot on the ship to settle down?"

"I find the starboard observation quarters to suit my needs. I will go there now to meditate on the events of the day. You may find me there when it is time to leave Nihon," Kiku said.

"Right, will do," Commander Jones said. Before they parted ways, he asked one quick question. "Hey, Kiku, you're not exactly easy to read and all, but you seem uncomfortable when I smile. Don't your people ever smile?" Alfred asked, head cocked to the side in curiosity. Kiku's eyebrows lifted as if he were surprised or maybe amused by the question.

"For most species, showing your teeth is a sign of aggression, is it not?"

Alfred puzzled over that, and then laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is. I don't mean it like that, though. Smiling is how humans show we're feeling happy or friendly, or its what we do when something is funny."

"Noted. My species expresses amusement or joy like this," Kiku said. At first, Alfred didn't notice it, but then he realized Kiku's pointed ears were moving. Alfred's face split into a huge grin, and the wiggling abruptly stopped. Sheepishly, Alfred hid his smile.

"Sorry, but that's pretty funny!"

"You do not need to hide your expression now that you have explained its meaning. I will get used to your quirks in time, as I hope you will adjust to mine," Kiku said in a monotone. Alfred wanted to ask about Kiku's strange way of speaking, too, but the day's activities had left him sweaty and his clothing soiled. Everything else could wait until after he'd showered and changed.

* * *

Captain Arthur watched as Matthew silently scrubbed at the stubborn grease and oil stains on his fair skin under the powerful blast of the galley sink.

"All that rot you were saying to Peter earlier...one might think you weren't loyal to the 2C cause," Arthur suggested in a deceptively mild tone. His dark green eyes glittered dangerously, though. It was just the two of them now, as the others had gone off to their respective parts of the ship to sleep in preparation for launch in a few hours time. Matthew's motions slowed for a moment and a small, troubled frown appeared on his face.

"I didn't mean to offend you or anyone else," he said quietly. Despite the mechanic's shy reply, Arthur's intensity didn't let up.

"I can't go into battle with a United Army ship not knowing where your loyalty lies," the Captain said darkly. Matthew's hands clenched on the sink for a moment, and then he dried them off with a nearby cloth. His expression was one of resigned sadness.

"I'm not a soldier, and I'm not a 2C rebel. I'm just a mechanic, Captain. I'm paid to keep your ship running, and that's what I'll do. It's no difference to me whether you're attacking a United Army ship or a mercenary vessel...but I am not prejudiced. I won't blindly hate all biotic humans just because you tell me I should. I can think for myself, Captain Kirkland...with all due respect," Matthew said softly.

The Captain scowled and slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. Matthew winced.

"That's bollocks! You're too soft. It'll get you killed one day. Tell a biotic you just want to be friends and I'll tell you what will happen—he'll blast you dead faster than you can say 2C!"

Matthew's eyes had been glued to the floor, but now he rather boldly raised them to meet the Captain's fiery gaze. When Matthew spoke, it was with quiet strength.

"My brother is a biotic. He'd never hurt anyone without good reason, and he's never hated me just because I'm a 2C," Matthew said. Arthur blinked in surprise and his mouth fell open a little.

"Your...brother?" Arthur said a bit dumbly. Matthew sighed.

"I suppose you were going to find out eventually...especially if we really are taking on a United Army ship. How about a cup of tea? It's a long story," Matthew said. Arthur's large eyebrows were furrowed in displeasure, but he nodded tightly. As Yao had mentioned earlier, a hundred years before, it had not been at all uncommon for families to be torn apart by the biotic-2C split, but now such a thing was unheard of entirely.

Matthew cleared his throat a bit nervously as he put the water on to boil and rummaged about for the tea leaves.

"When Alfred was born, he was...different. We're twins. Our mother was a slave to the owner of a junkyard. Alfred and I were born free, though. The owner—Axxil—offered to buy us both several times, but our mom always refused. It would have made her life much easier, but she never caved. She said Alfred was meant to be free—meant to do something great."

"Seems like she had a favorite," Arthur said rather insensitively. Matthew just gave a little shrug and stirred the tea in his cup.

"It wasn't favoritism...just honesty. I don't quite know how to describe Alfred. Most biotics don't show their powers until four or five, but Alfred was born a biotic. Mom said he glowed blue as a newborn. She didn't know what to make of it."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Arthur replied, accepting the mug of tea from Matthew. The mechanic sat down across from him and took a tentative sip of his hot drink.

"It's true. By the time we were toddlers, Alfred could move things with his biotics. He'd never been trained, but he could lift me off the ground. Of course, Alfred was a free spirit. It was just a game to him. We didn't know anything about the war, or what it meant. Our mom had a vague idea that biotics might come for Alfred some day, if they had some way of sensing him."

"It's rare, but occasionally biotic children are born in the Verge. The scouts come for them in the middle of the night. They rip them away from their families without explanation or warning," Arthur said darkly. Matthew nodded grimly.

"It was worse than that, when it eventually happened. Being so far out in the Verge, though, Alfred grew up like any other 2C. We were both good with mechanical odd jobs. We salvaged unwanted scrap from the junkyard and built robots and toys—even a functional racer pod. That was Alfred's dream. He even raced it without our mother knowing. He came in fourth place. Not bad for a seven year old."

"Not bad at all," Arthur agreed. "But they came eventually, didn't they?" Arthur asked. Matthew stared deeply into his tea cup.

"When they came to take him, Alfred fought them. He destroyed half the junkyard trying to resist. He was scared and he lost control of his biotics. That had been happening more and more often as we got older. His powers flared and he almost killed me. Our mother saved me. She jumped between me and the blast."

"That's horrible, lad," Arthur said. He wanted to blame the death on the biotic bastards that came to take Alfred, but Matthew continued to speak before he could.

"Yes, it was, but it showed Alfred that he couldn't continue to live in the Verge with me, with the people he'd known all his life. He was a danger to us and to himself. They told him if he came along peaceably, that they wouldn't harm him. They'd train him to use his biotics."

"Lies, probably. They can't be trusted," Arthur snapped. Matthew gave another shrug.

"They did just as they said. Alfred was horrified by what he'd done. He left with them willingly. I didn't hear from him until nearly six years later...I stupidly didn't want to hear from him. I blamed him. I blamed all biotics."

"You were right to blame them," Arthur said consolingly. Matthew shook his head.

"No. I was foolish. It's easy to hate and blame, Captain. It's much harder to love and forgive. He's my _brother_. We shared everything. He looked out for me, and he tried to take care of our mother. Yes, he was powerful and different, but that isn't why he was special. Alfred was special because he was good, and kind, and brave."

"A part of you must still hate his biotic powers. He killed your mother," Arthur argued. Matthew sighed.

"It was an accident. If you knew Alfred, you'd know."

"What happened to him? How did you get in touch again?" Arthur asked.

"He joined the United Army and moved up pretty quickly through the ranks. When he had the clearance and the technology, he tracked me down. He was worried that I still blamed him. He'd been afraid to try and contact me all those years."

"Exactly how high up in the United Army _is_ your brother?" Arthur asked, his eyes narrowing. Matthew sighed again, as if he knew Arthur would not like his next words.

"Well...he's...a Vanguard." Matthew didn't expect Arthur to laugh in his face, but that's exactly what the pirate Captain did.

"Good one, old chap. You really had me going there. I didn't think you had a sense of humor, Matthew," Arthur chuckled. Matthew tried not to be offended by the insult and took his tea cup to the sink, now that it was nearly empty.

"I'm _not_ joking. Alfred is a Vanguard—Commander-in-Chief of the SS Hetalia, fastest and most powerful ship in the United Army fleet, and a special operative of the Council."

Arthur's thick eyebrows creased in disbelief and then in anger.

"Impossible!"

"But true. Every word of it. So...that's why I don't think all biotic humans are evil. I know they aren't, you see. Alfred is as good as they come. Better than most, even."

"This is quite a bit to take in, Matthew. You barely say a word about yourself or your past for a whole year and then...this," Arthur trailed off weakly.

"I understand if you want me to quit before you take on a big United Army vessel. Who knows? My brother could be called in as re-enforcement. I don't care about anyone else, but I wouldn't help you hurt my brother. Not for anything," Matthew said firmly.

"I've planned this attack for nearly three months, Matthew. I won't call it off. There's too much riding on it now," Arthur said. A long, silent moment stretched between them. "It appears we have a conflict of interest," Arthur concluded with a sigh.

Just as Arthur said this, the com device in Matthew's pocket beeped excitedly and Matthew fished it out hastily. He stared at the surface of the device in surprise for a few moments before he glanced nervously at Arthur.

"It's...my brother. He's calling. He's never called. I haven't heard his voice since..."

"Well, I suppose you should answer, lad," Arthur said helpfully. Matthew snapped out of his daze and held the com device up to his ear.

"H-hello? Alfred?"

"_Mattie? Is it really you, bro?" _Alfred's voice crackled through the weak connection. Although he and Alfred had been e-mailing each other for nearly two months now, they had never called. Matthew was too shy and Alfred was too convinced Matthew didn't really want to be close again because of what he'd done as a child.

"Yes, it's me. Is everything okay? You haven't e-mailed in days..."

"_Mattie, I'm in big trouble. I can't say much over this feed, but I'm calling you through Tony—remember him? It's old-fashioned to call, but it's safer. They won't suspect me to use such outdated technology."_

"Alfred, what's wrong?" Matthew asked.

"_I'll be at the place from the stories she used to tell us—where Luke won his first qualifying race." _

"Alfred, what are you talking about?" Matthew demanded, his voice betraying his confusion. Alfred sighed.

"_I know you have a life and a job and I'm asking you to leave all that for a brother you probably can't even remember all that well...but I'm in big trouble, Matt. You're my only hope. Remember the story and meet me there. I have to junk some hot metal, and fast. I've gotta go now. Please come if you can, and wait for me!" _

Then the line went dead, and Matthew's expression told Arthur all he needed to know.

"I guess you'll be leaving my ship, then?" Arthur asked. Matthew stood dumbly for a moment before his violet eyes met Arthur's questioning green ones.

"He needs me. I have to go."

It seemed simple enough between the two men that night, but the next morning, Matthew's decision to stay on the planet was met with staunch opposition.

"We can not fly without a mechanic. This ship is more rust than metal," Ivan said simply. Then, with a slightly creepy grin, he added, "Besides, quiet little mechanic make good pancakes. He stays. We help with brother."

"I do not like to say it...but I agree with Ivan. Matthew is the newest to our crew, but he's one of us. If his brother is in trouble, then Matthew will be in trouble. It is not right to desert him," Yao said. Arthur's feathers ruffled in annoyance that his crew thought they had any say in the matter that had already been decided.

"This is not a democracy! This is _my_ ship, and _my_ ship will be attacking a UA merchant ship in three cycles time. I've planned this heist for _months_. I'm not missing that ship to go frolicking off to rescue some criminal biotic!"

"I knew you lied about biotics! They aren't the bad guy—you are! Only a bad guy would leave Matthew on his own. That's not what family does!" Peter shouted, even going so far as to grab Matthew tightly by the hand. Matthew was touched. He'd never thought it possible, but somehow, he'd formed friendships with the oddly mismatched crew. Even Rafael, Arthur's second-in-command, was giving him a comforting, friendly look that said he would not let Arthur kick him off.

"Rubbish! You lot realize there won't be any pay in this job, right? The UA ship would make us richer than kings. You want to give that up...for what? A biotic you don't even know? Need I remind you what the biotics did to us?"

"He's not just any biotic," Matthew insisted quietly. Arthur nearly growled.

"This is madness!" he roared.

"Captain Kirkland...just give up already. We aren't letting go of Matthew. Let go of this idea of the UA supply ship. It is just not going to happen," Yao said in a tone of finality.

"Now see here! I am the _Captain_ of this ship and—"

"Captain Kirkland is right. It means more than I can say that you all want to help me find my brother, but considering his status in the military, it can't possibly end well. He might very well have all of Counsel space on his tail. This is probably a suicide mission," Matthew said grimly. He gently untangled his hand from Peter's.

"Oh, is that why, then? Captain Kirkland is too afraid to help you?" Yao said mildly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I am not six, Yao. You won't manipulate me into—"

"I will not follow a pussy instead of a Captain. My guns are yours, Matthew. Besides, I go where my little Yao goes," Ivan added with a cheery smile. Arthur glared at him. Peter stuck his tongue out at Arthur and latched onto Matthew's hand once more. Stubbornly, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine. You'll go off without me...in what ship?" Arthur asked gloatingly. Matthew's eyes fell to the floor and Yao frowned.

"We'll just take this one. We're pirates, right? Who's in for stealing Captain Kirkland's ship?" Yao asked, ignoring Arthur's spluttering.

"Yay! I'm in!" Peter crowed in delight, jumping up and down at Matthew's side and waving his free hand in the air. Ivan nodded and continued to smile cheerily. Rafael grinned playfully at Arthur.

"Captain, I'm afraid if we don't rescue Matthew's brother, you'll have a mutiny on your hands." Despite the serious words, First Mate Silva was smiling roguishly.

"What do you say, Cap'n? Will you help Matthew's brother?" Peter demanded with impish glee. Angrily, Captain Arthur flung his hat at the cheeky brat.

"Bloody hell! Fine! Worthless scumbags, every last single one of you! We rescue the brother and then I'm kicking all of you out of my bloody ship! Men would kill to serve on a vessel like mine, and this is the attitude I get? I'll be in my quarters, thinking of all the money I'm losing on your sentimental shite! If anyone disturbs me, I'll put a hole through their eyes!"

Captain Kirkland then made quite the dramatic exit...ruined only by the fact that he felt compelled to return and pick his hat up off the floor where it had peacefully drifted.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry I've been so quiet the past few months. My work is INSANE this year. I've just had no energy to write when I get home. Updates will be slower than migrating glaciers, but I won't abandon anything. Sorry in advance for all the waiting!


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